


A Very Voltron Christmas

by literaldumpster



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Christmas, Christmas Eve, F/M, M/M, Mutual Pining, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-26
Updated: 2016-12-27
Packaged: 2018-09-12 06:31:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 11,356
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9059746
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/literaldumpster/pseuds/literaldumpster
Summary: Lance is stuck at the airport due to inclement weather, unable to spend Christmas Eve with his family. But Lance won't have to spend Christmas Eve alone if his friends have anything to do with it.





	1. Inclement Weather

**Christmas Eve**

**7:04 PM**

 

“I’m so sorry, mijo.”

On the other end of the telephone, Lance can hear the familiar Noche Buena commotion in the kitchen of his childhood home. There’s Abuela lovingly barking orders to his sisters, the clatter of earthenware and copper pots and cast iron pans, the raucous laughter from his dad and uncles as they prepare the lechon. His heart is a wrung sponge in his chest thinking that he’s missing one of the only times of the year he gets to see his entire extended family. He swallows the sudden tightness rising in his throat and tunes back in to his mom on the other end of the line.

“-- _Lance_ ? Here, I’ll put your sister on the phone-- _Eva! Come talk to Lance_ \--”

“No, Mama, that’s fine!” Lance glances up at the electronic display above the two very fed up gate agents and sighs. 5 hour delay.

“Are you sure?” his mom asks, distracted but empathetic. “Eva’s happy to talk to you-- _Eva_!”

“No, _really_. It… it’s fine. Enjoy dinner, okay?” Lance bites back a sniffle, lamenting the grumbling of his belly as he thinks of the rice and beans.

“Oh, _mijo_ ,” she sighs and takes a pause, either distracted or struggling for words. “I’ll see you soon?”

Lance nods heavily, then remembers he’s on the phone. “Yeah, see you soon.”

“Te quiero mucho,” she says emphatically, the voices in the background growing louder, joyful. He catches a few voices calling out a goodbye to him.

“Y yo te quiero a ti,” Lance replies, hesitates, and then ends the call. He slouches back in the airport chair outside his gate that he’s been confined to since mid-afternoon so that his head dips below the curve of the backrest. Then, with a hopelessly gloomy expression, he makes like limp jello and lets himself slide down the slippery leather until his butt hangs off the seat. He gazes miserably out the dark windows; the sky is a cloud-stained, turbid purple. Gusts of wind kick up swarms of thickly falling snowflakes on the airplane-devoid taxiway.

He tears his eyes away from the snow and finds himself making aggressive eye contact with an older woman also waiting at the gate. She gives him a disapproving eyebrow twitch, purses her lips, and then swiftly looks away. Lance reluctantly hauls himself back into his former mildly hunched over position over his phone.

**Lancelot, 7:12 PM:** Flight delayed another 2 hours. Say adios to Christmas Eve with the fam.

He leans his head back, staring at the speckled ceiling tiles. He wonders how many eyes have looked at this same spot before him. His phone buzzes reassuringly against his thigh with his friends’ condolences.

 

**Christmas Eve**

**8:02 PM**

 

A chorus of groans follow the announcement. Flight #2263 cancelled due to inclement weather. Lance watches as would-be passengers rise on stiff legs, wearily dialing their phones and dreamily dispersing. First Lance texts his mother, not feeling up to another sad phone call, and then takes to the group message once more.

**Lancelot, 8:06 PM:** ~I’ll be home for Christmas, if only in my dreams~

**Hunkules, 8:08 PM:** Delayed again?

**Lancelot, 8:08 PM:** Nope, cancelled

**Hunkules, 8:09 PM:** What!!!!!

**Hunkules, 8:09 PM:** No!!!!!

**Hunkules, 8:09 PM:** Until when???

**Lancelot, 8:10 PM:** I guess until the weather clears up

**The Great Barrier Keith, 8:11 PM:** Sent a GIF

**Lancelot, 8:12 PM:** Lol

**Pidgeon, 8:13 PM:** Radar says that won’t be anytime soon

**Lancelot, 8:13 PM:** Thanks, Pidge

**Pidgeon, 8:14 PM:** Sure thing

Lance sighs long and hard, looking out over the empty terminal. The fluorescent lights are closing-time dim and everything smells reminiscently of wet rubber and afternoon coffee. Security gates stand guard over dark storefronts, the bright gleam from glass-fronted refrigerator cases illuminating the kitschy Pennsylvania sweatshirts and keychains within, and the moving walkways have ceased to shuffle along and in their absence is a lonely sort of silence, only broken by the whistling winter winds. Finally, Lance stretches his legs out before him and begins to roll his luggage over the alternating industrial-grade carpet and ceramic tile to the main terminal.  

Lance passes by a member of the airport custodial staff tiredly trudging along behind a whirring floor polisher; they share a close-lipped smile. Then down one escalator, past security, and one somber train ride later, he finds himself standing in front of another weary, jowled employee.

“No shuttles til tomorrow morning. Inclement weather,” the man puffs shortly, loose skin quivering.

“What?! How am I supposed to get home?” Lance laments.

“Taxi?” he suggests gruffly, impatiently fingering the flyers on the desk.

“I can’t afford a cab!” Lance claps a hand over his forehead and prays to the ceiling.

“Guess you’re sleeping here, then.” The old bulldog of a man pointedly snags the handle of the security gate, jerks it into place, and snaps off the kiosk light.

“Thanks,” Lance grumbles to his feet and tugs his luggage behind him to a bank of chairs near the unmoving baggage carousels. “Stupid inclement weather,” he gripes as he drapes his long legs over the armrests of several chairs. He attempts to stuff his down jacket under his head and eventually, suitably comfortable, he opens up the group message.

**Lancelot, 8:42 PM:** Ever slept in an airport before? 

He tacks on a few pitiful emojis for good measure, feeling very sorry for himself.

And then he waits. 5 minutes pass, then 10, and then 15 with no response. Lance reconfirms that the text sent; lonely, it hovers there with a little glowing 8:42 PM timestamp. He drags his thumb up the screen, hoping for a message to pop up, but none come. He checks his service, but that doesn’t seem to be the problem either. Lance begins to feel very sorry for himself indeed.

Hot resentment and something a little harder to detect gurgle in his throat and he blinks heavily up at the ceiling. It’s Christmas Eve and Lance is going to spend it alone in an airport, and his friends don’t even care. They’re all busy with plans of their own and Lance knows it isn’t fair to expect them to spend all their time worrying about him, but he had hoped for a little sympathy.

He knows that Shiro and Allura are busy with each other, or whatever. And he knows that Hunk and Pidge are with Hunk’s family because the Holt clan is in China until New Year’s. And he knows that Keith has ambiguous plans with some distant relative or something. But that doesn’t mean he can’t feel a little neglected.

Lance pouts up at the ceiling and absently smacks his lips together. He decides he’ll get something from the vending machine. That’ll cheer him up. He rises from his seat, ties his winter coat haphazardly around his waist, and drags his roller bag behind him once more.

He passes by the oversize luggage carousel, empty and unmoving. Lance imagines that nothing in the world is moving but him, and he begins to feel terribly lonesome. To compensate, he begins to mumble the lyrics to one of his favorite Christmas tunes to the eerily quiet halls.

“Last Christmas, I gave you my heart,” he murmurs quietly as he passes the bathrooms.

Long banks of darkened fast food restaurants saunter by. “But the very next day you gave it away.”

“This year to save me from tears,” he croons, emboldened by the apparent lack of people. “I’ll give it to someone special--aha!” Two glowing vending machines stand side by side, beckoning to Lance like a crackling Yule log fire.

Lance inspects his options and decides on a soda, feeling somewhat parched. He peers into the depths of his wallet and finds only one remaining dollar. He shrugs. “Treat yo’ self.” He feeds the crinkled bill into the machine, and punches in the number code.

Then nothing. No mechanical whirs, no familiar drop and fizz of a bottle. He tries the buttons again and still no response. “What the--” Lance presses the coin return a few times, but nothing happens.

He steps back for a moment and stares disbelievingly at the machine. “You ate my dollar!” he cries and grabs at a few tufts of shaggier-than-he-likes brown hair. “I can’t believe you ate my dollar!”

Lance then gets very close to the vending machine, menacingly staring it down and poking an accusing finger like a gun into the plexiglass. His nose fogs up his view of the contents. “Now you listen here,” he says gravely. “You either give me my soda, or you give me my money.” Lance pretends to spit a toothpick out from between his teeth and arches one eyebrow high. “Kapiche?”

The vending machine merely continues to stand quietly.

Lance sniffs. “Have it your way.” He squats down and proceeds to wrap his long arms around the sides of the vending machine, attempting to rock it back and forth with a series of affected grunts.

Before he can really accomplish anything, though, a member of the airport custodial staff passes by on a loud, slow-moving riding vacuum. Lance, still squatting, peers up at her. She blinks back at him. They continue to make tenuous eye contact as she rides by, Lance glancing away and looking back up like a dog does when it’s taking a shit.

The custodian slowly putts out of sight and Lance creaks upright and sheepishly skulks back to baggage claim.

He retires himself to his self-assigned seats from before and decides to check his phone again in case he missed the familiar buzz during the vending machine debacle; still no replies. The loneliness creeps in again now that Lance is once more without a distraction. He pushes the feeling away and snugs into his makeshift pillow, jutting his chin upwards and shutting his eyes. Maybe he can just sleep.

 

**Christmas Eve**

**10:01 PM**

 

Lance is awoken by an insistent buzzing in his pants. He flounders for a moment, patting his thighs until he locates where the vibrations are coming from, and wrestles his phone from his cramped front pocket. “Hello?” he rasps, blinking his eyes heavily as he grasps at his surroundings.  

“Hey, buddy,” Hunk says slyly, which is odd because Hunk is rarely sly.

“Hunk?” Lance words. At first, he’s confused, and then angry as he remembers the previous radio silence. He considers tacking on a salty, “what do you want?”, but bites his tongue.

“Do you think you could come to passenger pickup?” Hunk assumes a casual tone, but Lance can tell he’s holding back from gushing.

Lance visibly brightens, rising to his feet and hastily cramming his arms into his jacket sleeves. “Why would I do that?” He asks coyly, speed-walking to the elevator banks. His suitcase skitters giddily on the tile behind him.

“Oh, no reason,” Hunk dismisses loftily.  

Lance imagines Hunk waiting outside passenger pickup in his minivan, Pidge in the passenger’s seat. In his mind’s eye he can see them waving him in to take him to Hunk’s folks’ place. It may not be _Lance’s_ home, but it’s certainly the next best thing.

Lance emerges from the elevator and races to the automatic doors leading out to the covered garage. The winter air hits nearly knocks the wind out of him, but he’s too elated to care. He eagerly glances around, looking for the familiar shape of the minivan; but he doesn’t see it. He looks to the right: empty traffic lanes and falling snow. He looks to the left: a group of people are loitering far away, presumably in front of some sort of vehicle, and facing away from Lance. But something’s very familiar about the one in the oversized red sweater and droopy santa hat; Lance would recognize that mullet anywhere. His heart feels suddenly lighter despite how quickly it pounds. “Guys!” he shouts, and they all peer over their shoulders.

“Lance!” Hunk shouts and throws his arms up like meaty goalposts, his phone still in his hand.

While Lance half walks, half jogs over to his friends, Pidge half-heartedly holds up a cardboard sign with ‘Lance’ clumsily scrawled on it and says something to the effect of, “I told you he’d come out over there.” Shiro and Allura wave paternally behind the others and Hunk’s mustard-yellow minivan becomes visible behind his friends as he grows closer.

“Merry Christmas, buddy!” Hunk coos and gathers Lance up into a bone-crushing hug. Lance attempts to breathe despite the fact that his nose and mouth are conveniently squashed against the primordial boundary of Hunk’s dank armpit. Lance peeks out at the rest of the gang; they’re all smiling, excitedly chatting with one another, occasionally patting Lance on the back. Lance feels the weight of what he assumes is a Santa hat coming to rest on his head. Then he turns his gaze to Keith; he’s drowning in a ridiculously [bright red sweater](http://captaintimber.tumblr.com/post/155058922797/merry-klancemas-some-fan-art-for-a-cute-fic-that) that reads: “Meowy Christmas” and pictures a cat tangled up in a string of Christmas lights. Annoyed, Keith tugs at the sleeves and removes the hat from atop his head; his hair frizzes up, following the trajectory of the hat, but Keith wrangles his mullet back into place. He’s got this unintentionally cute thing going on, but Lance has always known that nothing’s ever going to happen there. He’s never known Keith to be the dating type. He glances away just as Hunk releases him back to the ground.

Lance dizzily teeters for a moment, gathering his bearings as Shiro and Allura flank him in a three-person side hug. Then Pidge hands Lance the cardboard sign with his name on it. “We made this for you,” they say somewhat apologetically; obviously the sign idea didn’t quite pan out the way Pidge wanted it to.

“Thanks, Pidge. It’s great.” Lance grins, nudging Pidge lightly with his elbow.

“Yeah, yeah,” Pidge brushes him off with a smile and boards Hunk’s minivan alongside Shiro and Allura.

Lance turns his smile to Keith, the only one left standing on the curb with him. “Keith! What is up, my guy?” Lance opens his arms for a hug, but Keith doesn’t exactly reciprocate. Like, at all. Lance unsurely and mechanically flounders his arms. “Can I?”

Keith frowns at Lance for a moment, and then his eyes pop open wide in understanding. “Oh--uh, yeah! Yeah.” They rigidly embrace for a moment, Keith holding his hands a few inches away from Lance’s back, and Lance patting Keith’s back a little like he’s burping a baby. They stiffly step away from one another. “Good one,” Keith says and proffers a clumsy thumbs up.

“Enh.” Lance waffles his hand from side to side. “We’ll work on it.” He grins at Keith, remembering the time that he tried to initiate a catchphrase.

Then Lance jumps as the passenger’s side door swings open. Hunk leans out and shouts, “Hop in! Since you can’t go to Christmas, we’re bringing Christmas to you!” Then Hunk frowns, recalculating his last sentence. “Well, I guess technically we’re bringing _you_ to _Christmas_. A different Christmas. But still Christmas!” He beams brightly once more.

Lance shakes his head at his best buddy with a smile and climbs into the front seat.

 

**Christmas Eve**

**10:21 PM**

 

Silence overtook the car a few minutes into the drive, and now Lance stares quietly out the window. The city lights are muffled under all the snow. It’s all bokeh and and windchill.

He’s thinking of his family again. As exit signs pass overhead, he thinks of hugging his mother and father, shaking hands with his uncles, doling out noogies to each and every one of his siblings. Snow flurries form animal shapes on the roadside underneath the snow-capped street lamps and he thinks of his two dogs back home, a couple of mangy rescues that he and his younger sister convinced their parents to adopt years ago; now with fat bellies and graying muzzles, he can’t imagine his family without them. Lance sighs and rests his temple against the cool glass window.

Hunk fiddles with his radio, willing it to produce sound. Unfortunately, but predictably, only static sputters out. Lance and Hunk may or may not have blown out the van’s speakers last week while listening to Beyonce’s Partition. Lance maintains that it was honorable to die at the hands of the Queen and he can only hope for the same demise.

As Lance continues to stare solemnly out the window, he can feel Hunk looking at him. He glances over and is met with these big, sad, cow-brown eyes. He knows that look. It’s the “Lance, I know you’re not okay” look. Lance shoots him the “Hunk, I’m fine” face and turns away.

Hunk powers off the radio and it’s quiet once more. Lance returns to his thoughts. Then Hunk clears his throat, loudly and jarringly. A few of the other passengers look up at him in concern. Hunk takes a dramatic pause and then lets out a long, tremulous “ohhhhh.” And he begins to sing. Horribly. “You better watch out,” he begins, sounding almost exactly like a fog horn or perhaps an angry semi truck driver. “You better not cry!” Lance fixes Hunk with an irritated, but unmistakably fond expression.

“ _You better not pout_ ,” Hunk caterwauls very pointedly to Lance, earning a small laugh. “I’m telling you why!”

Then two more voices sing the next part as Shiro and Allura pipe in from the very back of the van in two very different keys from what Hunk is singing in. “Santa Claus is coming to town!”

Lance, feigning embarrassment, but feeling unadulterated delight, frowns back at the two of them. He feels the weight of his previous thoughts lifting as he makes a show of plugging his ears.

“Heeee’s making a list, checking it twice!” Hunk forges on, Allura and Shiro mumbling at first and then, remembering the lyrics, catching up. “Gonna find out who’s naughty or nice!”

“Y’know, in some versions of the song, they say ‘naughty _and_ nice’ instead of ‘naughty _or_ nice’, and I’ve never understood why they would do that. ‘Or’ clearly makes more sense than ‘and.’” Pidge verbally bulldozes through the unholy caroling. “And the next part about Santa being omnipresent--doesn’t that give you the heebie jeebies?”

As Pidge speaks, Shiro and Allura inch closer to their chair, drowning out their soliloquy as the two of them sing even louder. Pidge finally rolls their eyes and joins in too, “So be good for goodness sake! Ohhhh!”

Lance laughs and shakes his head, smiling back at his friends as they throw up their heads in song. He watches as Shiro and Allura look to one another, bewildered, for the words to the next verse and Pidge provides some syncopated drumming on the back of Hunk’s headrest. Then he locks eyes with the only other person in the van not singing; Keith’s eyes are wide and so, so dark in the confines of the car and Lance feels something in his chest. A minute change, like a hairline fracture. He can’t bring himself to look away. Lance can physically feel the confusion and something like panic brewing in Keith’s gaze, and he expects some kind of question or retort when Keith opens his mouth. But, astonishingly, Keith begins to sing too, and the look in his eyes tells Lance that he, too, is startled by that. “Gonna find out who’s naughty or nice!”

Lance feels as though his cheeks will swallow his eyeballs, he’s cheesing so hard. His stomach turns and he feels like he’s dropping, falling. Chalking it up to hunger, he turns back around, rolls down the passenger’s side window, and pokes his head out into the oncoming rush of flurries. “Santa Claus is coming to town!” he belts out to the empty, snowy highway and thinks, _this won’t be such a bad Christmas after all_.

 

**Christmas Eve**

**11:06 PM**

 

They screech to a halt in the parking lot of the lit-up grocery store on the outskirts of State College. Keith had gotten impatient somewhere along US-322 and demanded that Hunk let him drive. Hunk eventually relented, and although Keith’s driving knocked a good 20 minutes off the trip, it also took a few years off Hunk’s life.

Keith removes his gloved hands from the steering wheel and Hunk slowly detaches himself from the minivan’s metal frame, retracting his head from out the gaping window. His face looks wind-whipped and cold-chapped from the ride, and although mostly red from the chill, it still maintains a sickly green tint.

“Alright, team!” Allura sounds off authoritatively from the very back of the minivan and pokes her head between Hunk and Pidge’s seats. “We have 20 minutes to gather all the necessary Christmas Eve supplies. Hunk, as previously discussed, you’re in charge of food. Pidge, Keith, and Lance: you’re on decorations.”

“Your most important mission is to find a Christmas tree,” Shiro tacks on with a grave nod.

“And Shiro and I have libations covered,” Allura finishes, smiling back at her partner.

“Any questions?” Shiro asks. The only sound as the van’s passengers glance around at one another is a sick, wet burp and a faint apology from Hunk; the rest of them just shrug.

“Alright, break!” Shiro announces. Hunk and Pidge punch the automatic door buttons in the back, and Keith and Lance clamber out of the front, the overhead lights inside the van jumping to life. Keith and Pidge stand and wait near the trunk while the others file out of the vehicle.

“You doing alright, buddy?” Keith watches from his periphery as Lance pats Hunk on the arm reassuringly.

Hunk bobs his head in response, takes a deep pull of winter air, and grins. “Yeah, I’m good,” he says and scratches at his stomach. “Kinda hungry, actually.”

Lance throws back his head and lets out a laugh, his eyes crinkling like they always do. And then as he settles back into a jaunty grin, Lance catches Keith’s eye through the van’s tinted back window.

Keith’s stomach drops somewhere much closer to the equator and he jerks his head away, warmth creeping up his neck like poison ivy itch. He glances down briefly at Pidge who’s got this smug, knowing look on their face. “Don’t,” Keith warns and claps a hand to the back of his neck, hot and damp underneath his hair.

“I didn’t say anything,” Pidge says innocuously and then lays on a smarmy smile. “Oh, _hey_ , Lance.”

Keith begins to walk hurriedly towards the grocery store, refusing any sort of eye contact, but is yanked backwards when Lance hooks a friendly arm around his shoulder. Keith stiffens and nausea washes over him as he feels the lazy pressure of Lance’s body against his own as they walk at a casual pace.

“What’s the hurry, Keith? We’ve got a whole 20 minutes,” Lance chastises.

Keith risks a quick look at Lance, catching a glimpse of the sprinkling of freckles on the bridge of his nose. Finding his throat is too dry to really say anything, he shrugs lamely.

“You _cold_ , Keith?” Lance galls and Keith feels the familiar rivalry spirit flaring. He meets Lance’s gaze and narrows his eyes.

“Never. Just wanted to get a head start on finding the best Christmas tree before you can,” Keith challenges.

“ _You’re on_ ,” Lance agrees, and in one fluid motion, slips his arm from around Keith and breaks into a sprint towards the store entrance.

“That’s the spirit!” Allura cheers.

Keith takes a brief moment to lament the chill on the back of his neck, and then charges after Lance.

 

**Christmas Eve**

**11:11 PM**

 

“This is the saddest Christmas tree I have ever seen.”

Lance, Keith, and Pidge stand critically over the lone, remaining christmas tree. They watch as one of its branches actively droops until it hits the floor with the finality of a submarine landing on the ocean floor.

“Welp.” Lance pops his lips, hands perched on his hips.

“The last one,” Pidge muses.

Keith spends a good minute staring at the tree, his friends uncomfortably glancing back and forth between it and Keith. He refuses to let this be a bad thing. They’ve gone to too much trouble to let this derail the whole thing. This is their Christmas tree and it’s a damn good Christmas tree. “It’s perfect,” he says with absolute finality.

“What?” Lance and Pidge gape at Keith as he lifts the tree into the cart, spraying errant needles like confetti. He notes that it looks very similar to what a dessicated corpse might look like at the bottom of a coffin, but he stubbornly ignores the sparse branches and browning needles.

“I love this tree,” Keith declares protectively, his jaw set in a hard line as he wheels the cart towards the picked-over seasonal aisle. “And I would pick it over any other tree.”

“Jeez, Keith. Didn’t know you felt so strongly about _trees_.” Lance sidles up to Keith and bumps him in the shoulder, leaving his skin feeling a little different than it did before.

Keith risks a glance up at Lance and then snaps his gaze forward again. He feels ridiculous as his face warms perceptibly. “Well. I do,” Keith chokes out and scoots over to the clearance packages of ornaments. “What about these?” He asks, staring intently at the box in his hands without really seeing the contents.

“Why those? Half of them are broken,” Pidge says critically and then grabs another package. “How about these ones?.”

“Hey, nice find, Pidge!” Lance pokes his head over the little shiny green and red balls. “What do you think, Keith?”

Keith clumsily shoves the box of broken ornaments back on the shelf and nods. “Those are good,” he mumbles.

Keith is struggling. He’s been struggling for months, actually, and things have only been getting worse. He was sincerely looking forward to spending the break _not_ thinking about Lance, but here they are. Shopping for decorations. About to spend Christmas Eve together.

Keith ghosts along quietly next to Lance and Pidge as they pick out lights and other necessary Christmas accoutrements.

It started suddenly. Keith was waiting at a table in the library for Lance like he had been since the beginning of the semester. They ended up in the same section of a mandatory history class, so they studied together every Monday, Wednesday, and Friday. Keith was already established at the table with his textbook cracked open, highlighter uncapped and between his teeth, because Lance was characteristically late. Then, as familiar footfalls sounded on the carpet, Keith lifted his head and there was just something about Lance that day. In the same pair of jeans he’d been wearing all week and a white t-shirt pulled slightly askew, he was looking down at his phone. And then it happened.

Lance peered up, spotted Keith, and smiled. And his eyes were devastatingly blue; a kind of dark blue Keith’s never seen before and he wondered why he’d never noticed that before. Never noticed the gradient pool of shadow above his clavicle, visible underneath the disheveled collar of his shirt. Never noticed how much he liked it when Lance smiled, especially when he was smiling at _him_. Then a strange sensation gripped Keith’s stomach, something wholly foreign and entirely unwelcome. His mouth went dry and the highlighter dropped from his mouth. A bold, blue mark stained his rented textbook.

Lance poked fun at him unmercifully, and Keith tried to regain the easy, argumentative comradery they’d had since they were freshmen in the dorms, but something was different. He tried to sleep it off, tried to talk himself out of it, tried to ignore it. It didn’t work. Now Keith just stares at his bedroom ceiling late into the night while his stomach churns and his heart and his hips burn until he’s had enough. Frustrated, he’ll slam a tablespoon of Nyquil and cocoon himself in his comforter until morning.

“BOOM. Done-zo.” Lance stands, satisfied and triumphant, over the cart that’s significantly fuller than the last time Keith looked in it.  

“I think we’ve got everything, which is good because it’s 11:24,” Pidge says, glancing up from their digital watch. “Shall we?”

 

**Christmas Eve**

**11:25 PM**

 

“Great job, everyone!” Shiro congratulates them as each team rolls up with a cart. Allura carries a small shopping basket with a couple of boxes inside and Shiro is hefting around a cardboard box from the liquor store nextdoor. Hunk valiantly stands behind a small cart filled to the brim with what looks predominantly like Rice-A-Roni, canned goods, and lunch meat. Keith is mildly concerned by the contents, but trusts Hunk unconditionally with culinary endeavors.

“Yes, great work!” Allura reinforces, but then her smile falters as she catches sight of the saddest Christmas tree in the East Coast. “Oh. It’s… cute!” She enthuses, a false note ringing momentarily in her voice.

“Well, Keith would die for this Christmas tree if it weren’t already dead,” Lance says casually.

“I wouldn’t _die_ for it. I said that I--” Keith protests.

Lance shushes him with his hand. “--shh, shh. You don’t have to say it. We already know,” he says in a way that makes Keith feel infuriatingly self-conscious.

“I just said that I liked it!” Keith sputters, shoving away Lance’s hand.

“No, I distinctly recall you saying you loved it,” Lance corrects, a smug smile positioning itself on his lips.

Keith opens his mouth object, but Shiro interrupts him. “Aaaaand we’re done here,” he says and pushes through the two bickering boys, headed towards the lone open cash register.

Keith follows Shiro and Allura dutifully, but his spine stiffens as Lance catches up with him and begins to murmur something in his ear. “You can talk to me anytime you need to…” Keith feels his face warming considerably, wondering where this is coming from. “Y’know, because you’re a weird tree person.” There it is.

Keith glares back at Lance and picks up the pace, gaining some distance.

“I’m here for you, buddy!” Lance calls after him and Keith hates how that word makes him feel. _Buddy_.

When the cashier catches sight of them, something dies in her eyes. Keith begins to feel bad for doing this since the grocery store closes in about 30 minutes and no one wants to work late at night on Christmas Eve. Selfishly, he wishes they hadn’t done this at all, and not just for the cashier’s sake. He wishes that he hadn’t texted the others and asked them if they could pick Lance up, and he wishes that he hadn’t told Hunk it was a “great idea” to recreate Christmas Eve dinner for Lance instead of just bringing him back to Hunk’s folks’ place. Keith had gotten carried away because he knew it would make Lance happy, and all he really wants is to make Lance happy, but now he regrets it all.

Allura and Hunk begin to unload their items onto the conveyor belt and Keith feels himself settling into a Mood. He pretends not to watch as Lance and Pidge play around with some goofy discount nutcracker they decided to buy.

“You doing okay, Keith?” Shiro asks in a low voice, appearing behind him.

Keith scratches the top of his head. “Yeah, just… tired.” He shrugs with a forced smile.

Shiro sends Keith a knowing look and then nods. “Okay.”

Keith hasn’t told anyone about his feelings for Lance and never intended to bring it up. People have just sort of been figuring it out no matter how hard Keith tries to hide it. Shiro was the first to piece it together, coming to Keith every now and then like he’s some sort of all-knowing father figure. Then Pidge, shrewd as ever, found out and has been torturing Keith ever since. Allura likely knows because of Shiro and because she occasionally tries to impart some unwanted, but well-meaning wisdom upon Keith. He’s still unsure as to whether Hunk knows, and he has prayed desperately to every known deity that Lance will never find out. His plan is to ride out this crush until it’s gone and then move on with his life. Lance would never be interested in Keith anyway, and besides, Keith is too frightened that it would throw off the dynamics of all of their friendships to act on it. And, honestly, right now he’s just frustrated that Lance is taking up so much brain space. Keith feels ridiculous that he let it get this far. Why can’t it just stop?

“Have a good one,” the cashier says flatly once all of their purchases are safely packaged in bags.

“Happy holidays!” Shiro calls out as he wheels one consolidated cart out to the parking lot. 

“Yep,” responds the cashier.

 

**Christmas Eve**

**11:50 PM**

 

The chunky, oak banister in Hunk and Lance’s townhouse is bedecked with fake evergreen boughs and garish, flashing multicolored lights. It’s both hideous and wonderful, exactly what Lance and Pidge were going for when they bought them. Lance turns his head and grins at the little, droopy Christmas tree. Keith was right, it _is_ perfect. Lance and Pidge somehow remembered to get a tree stand, but blanked on the tree skirt, so they ended up using one of Lance’s beach towels: a cheery blue and green scene depicting swimming baby turtles. The decorating process itself took the most time. Lance indulgently smirks as he remembers moving every single ornament that Keith meticulously placed and then, against everyone’s wishes, played the cringey, 8-bit version of “Jingle Bells” on the musical Christmas tree lights over and over again. He and Keith got into a spat when Keith couldn’t take it any longer, but Lance has no regrets.

Lance then flat-out grins as he takes in the mother of all tree toppers. They also managed to forget a star or an angel or _something_ at the store, so after a little rooting around in his closet, Lance found his beloved rubber horse mask. Now it looms over them, watching with dead eyes, a Santa hat hanging festively from one of its ears.

Lance’s own curation of Christmas hits plays amiably from his little bluetooth speaker set up next to the kooky, slack-jawed nutcracker on the console table. A Netflix fire blazes on the television, and Lance is perfectly content.

Just then, Hunk mouth trumpets a little tune to announce himself and then emerges from the kitchen in his orange apron. “Christmas Eve dinner… is served.” He motions for everyone to file in.

As they all proceed into the little room, Hunk presents the dishes in their respective pots and pans. “First, you’ll find lechon and yuca con mojo.” Then as an aside to Lance he whispers, “It’s actually lunch meat, sorry. And they don’t sell yuca at the grocery store, so I used sweet potato. And also I used orange juice. I hope it still tastes good, buddy.”

Lance gives him a watery smile, touched by the gesture. “Thanks, Hunk.”

Hunk nods, empathetically tearing up a little as well. Then, he continues to list off the sides: “Then we’ve got rice and beans, with a little cilantro for seasoning. And, last but not least, fried plantains. They’re actually bananas, not plantains, but I’m not really sure what the difference is.” Hunk frowns. “Anyway. Grub up!”

Lance snags a plate, feeling a weird mixture of nostalgia, excitement, and homesickness. It’s true, he misses his family and he wishes he was with them, but the smells are similar and he’s at his home away from home with some of the people he cares about most in this world, and that’s enough for him.

He stakes his claim on one of the seats on the couch and places his steaming plate, heaping with food, on his lap, waiting while the others get settled before he digs in.

Finally, Lance, before taking a bite, looks around the room at his closest friends and feels his throat tighten, tears springing to his eyes. Shiro and Allura sit on Lance’s carpeted stairs, laughing at something that Hunk, next to him on the overstuffed recliner couch, said. Pidge perches on a thriftstore barstool, grinning with a fork in their mouth, and Keith sits crosslegged against the beat up, wooden coffee table and snorting with laughter. Lance sets his fork down on his plate, feeling unabashedly sappy. “Can I say something real quick?” He speaks up, and the others look up at him, waiting expectantly for him to say something.  

Feeling a little embarrassed with the number of eyes on him, Lance flushes a little and hesitates. “Thank you for doing this, guys. Even though I can’t be home for Christmas Eve... this is the next best thing.” He flushes even deeper before continuing on. “You’re like family to me. So... thanks.”

“Awww, buddy,” Hunk gushes, and then initiates a hug that nearly pops Lance’s shoulder out of his socket as he attempts to keep his plate of food from spilling over. “We love you too.”

“Y’know, it was Keith’s idea in the first place,” Pidge remarks, twirling their fork in their hand.

“Yes, it _was_ Keith’s idea,” Allura chimes in and Lance glances over at him and his heart begins to beat minutely faster. He finds himself speechless. Normally, Lance would jump right on the opportunity to poke fun of Keith showing that he cares, which they all know he does, and immensely so. But all he can do is stare as Keith’s mouth opens and closes in protest.

“It--it’s nothing. _Really_ , it was Hunk’s idea,” he babbles, and then his voice hardens as he regains his composure. “I just wanted to pick you up so the airport employees wouldn’t have to deal with you.”

Lance can’t help it. It stings a little, but he won’t let it show. “Aw, c’mon, Keith. Like you’d wanna spend Christmas Eve with anyone else.” Lance feels a twinge of insecurity as he says it. He has this nagging thought in his head that maybe his friends really don’t want to be spending Christmas Eve with him, but only pitied him enough to throw this together. But Lance shakes the thought away, looking down at the beautiful plate of food in front of him and all his beautiful friends around him and is able to convince himself otherwise.

Suddenly, Pidge’s watch starts beeping brightly. They peer down, switching it off. “It’s officially Christmas!”

They all let out a little cheer, and then Shiro raises his little plastic cup of champagne. “Merry Christmas, everyone!”

“Merry Christmas!” the group of friends calls back, lifting their glasses in the air.

 

**Christmas**

**12:33**

 

“Schnapps me up, Scotty,” Lance whoops as Shiro comes around with the peppermint schnapps, spiking hot chocolates here and there. Keith rolls his eyes as Lance takes a long sip from his cup and sighs, snuggling further into the couch cushions.

Pidge is making their rounds, attempting to start up a competitive friendly game of gin rummy, and Keith is leaning against the cold windowsill while blowing on his cocoa, enjoying the warmth and the company.

He watches idly as Lance drags himself from off the couch and goes to stand in front of the virtual fire, first pretending to warm his hands, earning a few giggles. Then he spins around and wiggles his butt in front of the TV, a satisfied expression on his face. Keith, unable to help himself, lets out a laugh and Lance grins back at him. Keith gulps and his smile falters the longer Lance’s eyes are on him. _Why is he still looking at me?_

Then Lance abruptly looks away, instead staring thoughtfully at the speaker as high music notes tinkle lightly, and then all of a sudden he begins to furiously shush everyone. Church bells begin to chime on the track and both a female voice and Lance start singing, “I don’t want a lot for Christmas.”

Keith, confused, looks to Shiro, who shrugs ambivalently back at him.

“There is just one thing I need,” Lance croons, dramatically holding up his index finger and wagging it appropriately during the riff.

“Uhhh what’s happening here?” Keith asks Pidge, who opens their mouth to respond, but is then cut off as Lance forges on.

“I don’t care about the-- _wait_.” Lance pauses dead in his tracks and gapes at Keith. “Do you-- do you not know this song?”

Keith blinks. “No?”

Lance clucks his tongue and shakes his head. “Keith, Keith, Keith. This is Mariah Carey’s 1994 classic “All I Want For Christmas Is You.” Listen and experience the magic.” And then he’s off in another world again. “--make my wish come true,” Lance eeks out in ridiculous falsetto, and then reaches a single, theatrical hand up to the ceiling. “All I want for Christmas…” He slowly brings his fist to his chest and bows his head. “...is you.” He lifts his head and begins bouncing his hips along with the jaunty piano. Keith swallows heavily, pointedly ignoring the strangely silky movement.

“C’mon, Hunk!” Lance shouts, ponying over to him and making come hither motions. Hunk shakes his head with good humor and he lifts himself from off the couch with an affected grunt. He begins cheerily singing backup and marches in time over to Pidge, urging them to join in on the fun too.

Then Lance lays his eyes on Keith once more with a mischievous glint in his eye. He jerks his head to get Keith to come join him, and it just about kills him. He silently orders his heart to quit pounding so hard and shakes his head. Lance shrugs, but something tells Keith this isn’t his last effort.

Soon, Lance has wrangled Shiro and Allura into the mix, draping two long arms around their shoulders and dancing them over to the others. Hunk and Allura begin mimicking backup singers, complete with step-touches, snaps, and emphatic head-waggling. Shiro and Pidge start doing a little foxtrot.

Lance grins and then turns back to Keith. Keith, again, shakes his head preemptively, but that doesn’t stop Lance. He begins swinging an imaginary rope above his head and then throws the lasso around Keith, who rolls his eyes as Lance tugs at him incrementally. Keith sighs heavily and, giving in, shuffles his feet in time with the music until he’s within reach. Lance grips onto Keith’s forearms and begins to spin them around, leaving Keith giddy and warm and dizzy, his vision dotted with multicolored lights.

They slow and Lance lets go, his fingertips ghosting down the vulnerable underside of Keith’s arms, leaving little rivers of electricity. Like a dream, Keith watches as Lance climbs up on the coffee table and begins to sing once more. “I just want you for my own, more than you could ever know!” Lance throws him arms out to his sides, narrowly missing a few raised arms. “Make my wish come true, baby all I want for Christmas…” Then he takes a deep gulp of air. “...is… you!” Keith’s heart stops as Lance points right at him and his lips twitch upwards as he feels a strange mixture of nausea and elation. Then the feeling's gone as quickly as it came. “And you, and you, and you…” Lance points to Hunk, then Pidge, then Allura, and Shiro, and even the nutcracker and the stupid horse mask on top of the tree.

Keith is disappointed. Not surprised, but disappointed.

 

**Christmas**

**1:48 AM**

 

Keith stands alone in the kitchen, drink in hand, feeling the need to be alone for a moment. He stares out the window, holding his warm cup to his chest as he observes the snow drifting gently onto the plush, dark ground. Despite the late hour, the sky remains a cloudy, dusky lilac. A few patches of the dark night sky poke through the cloud cover, however, and Keith wonders if it’ll stop snowing soon.  

“What’s this doing up here?” Keith jumps as Lance appears at the sink beside him, he’d been too zoned out to notice him enter. He looks up to where Lance is rolling between his fingers the leaves of a small green sprig hanging from the ceiling.

Keith squints up at the plant, also wondering why someone would hang that up there.“Is it… oregan--ohhh, no.”  It suddenly hits him. That’s not oregano. His eyes fall to meet Lance’s.

“Oh, there you are!” Hunk says pleasantly from the doorway. “What are you guys looking at--oh, hey, look! Mistletoe! I didn’t know that was there.” They remain quiet until Hunk gasps and Keith visibly flinches. “Mistletoe! That means you have to _kiss_!”

Then Shiro and Allura poke their heads through the door. “What’s going on here?” Shiro asks and then looks up at the ceiling. “Oh, hey, look. Mistletoe.”

“ _Did you already kiss?!_ ” Hunk gasps, scandalized.

“No!” Keith shouts at the same time Lance yelps, “No way! Gross!” They recoil from one another.

“Well, you _have_ to kiss, it’s tradition,” Allura reasons, her eyes bright and impish.

“Kiss _Keith_?” Lance cries. “I don’t think so.”

Keith, suddenly very offended adds, “Pfft. And like I’d ever kiss Lance.”

“Hey, I’m a great kisser!” Lance says, wounded.

Keith splutters, “Well--well, so am I!”

“ _Guys!_ It stopped snowing! You gotta see the stars!” Pidge suddenly slides into view, tugging insistently at the three in the doorway.

“Stars! Great idea, Pidge,” Hunk says, obviously grateful for the out from the tension in the kitchen. He pulls an about face and files out behind Pidge.

They hear the front door open into the winter night, and Pidge calls persistently, “C’mon, guys!”

Allura sends Keith a look that he refuses to unpack the meaning of and exits the kitchen with Shiro.

Alone once more, Lance nods for Keith to go first, but Keith refuses, gesturing for the other boy to go. Lance nods and Keith waits for him to leave before letting out a frustrated groan. He glares at the mistletoe, ripping it down from the ceiling, and then goes to join the others.

 

**Christmas**

**2:01 AM**

 

Through the rift in the clouds is a stunning black velvet sky. Dashes of sugary stars and a bright, heavy moon cast solemn, contemplative shadows across the neighborhood lawns.

“It’s amazing,” Allura sighs. Lance glances over briefly and finds Allura has captured the ends of Shiro’s scarf in her hands and is tugging him in for a kiss. Lance, feeling intrusive, looks away, opting instead to gaze at Keith. He stands with his arms dangling at his sides and his head tipped back, marveling at the stars. He admires the long, lean curve of his back, the wayward curls of dark hair glancing the top of his shoulders. Lance’s throat feels suddenly tight. _Should I have kissed him?_ He wonders. _No. Keith would never kiss me. He said it himself._

Lance sucks in a mouthful of frigid air and resigns himself to the celestial cathedral above. Silently, they all look up in awe at the sky, breath rising like chimney smoke, yawning and stretching until it dissolves.

It’s so peaceful looking at something so ancient and yet so new. The stars lull Lance into a kind of dream. That is, until a frosty ass snowball pelts him n the jaw. Lance jumps into action, rubbing his cold, raw face into his shirt sleeve. He pounces around in a circle, ready for a fight. “Who did that?!” He sweeps to the right, glaring as Shiro and Allura attempt to hide their giggles. Then he scowls to the left. Pidge and Hunk are outright laughing, but Keith. Keith looks guilty.

“This means war!” Lance roars and scoops up a handful of powder and hurls it as hard as he can at Keith’s stupid pretty face.

Things don’t really go as Lance planned, though. Keith instinctively dodges the snowball, and then fixes Lance with this _murderous_ look. “Oh, no,” Lance laments briefly and then hauls ass down the street, Keith in hot pursuit.

“Snowball fight!” Hunk bellows.

 

**Christmas**

**2:32 AM**

 

“I am so. C-c-c-cold,” Lance chatters, rubbing his arms frantically as he stiffly steps back through the front door.

Keith follows behind, his muscles tense with the cold. He shivers fiercely in his wet clothes that have now frozen into frigid slabs of ice. Lance and Keith got the worst of it; the others were mostly able to remain dry, but the two of them pummeled each other. Although he’s freezing, Keith feels better. He feels like he did months before when he and Lance were just buddies and Keith didn’t have anything to hide. He grins through his chattering teeth, feeling triumphant. He finally kicked that stupid crush.

“Dude, you’re soaking wet,” Hunk says empathetically. “Do you wanna put your clothes in the dryer?” Before Keith can respond in the negative, Hunk yells out, “Lance! Do you have some clothes Keith could borrow?”

Lance is hunched over and climbing incrementally up the steps when he pauses and turns to Keith, now dripping in the heat of the house. “Yeah, ‘course. C’mon.” Lance motions to Keith and continues his ascent.

Keith is about to protest, but both Hunk and Shiro fix him with parental looks.

“Fine,” he sighs and trudges up the stairs to Lance’s room. As soon as he darkens the doorway, a pair of sweatpants and a t-shirt come flying towards him. He catches them with his face, reflexes apparently all used up from the previous battle. “Thanks,” Keith mumbles and is about to go change in the bathroom, but halts when he sees the growing sliver of smooth, tan skin as Lance removes his shirt.

Keith tries to swallow, tries to look away, tries to blink. But he’s frozen. Lance lifts his long arms above his head, tossing his shirt a few feet in front of his laundry basket. Keith’s eyes trace over the lean muscle, the smooth, gliding motion of his shoulder blades, the gentle curvature of his spine down to two, Venusian dimples above his slender hips. Keith’s heart hammers like a SWAT team with a battering ram and his breath grows shallow.

Lance peeks over his shoulder and Keith panics. He rounds the corner and pounds down the stairs, avoiding the gazes of the others, and locks himself in the main floor bathroom.

Keith braces himself on the sink, hanging his head heavy. _What was that? I thought you were over this!_ Agitated, he tears off his shirt and kicks his cold jeans off his clammy thighs. Keith stares at his reflection in the mirror and wills himself to look less freaked out than he is. Too frustrated with himself to think, he tugs on the the clothes Lance gave him and leaves the bathroom, heart still pounding.

Back in the livingroom, Lance is parading around, tipsily repeating, “You’ll shoot yer eye out!” as Pidge, progressively more irritated, searches Netflix for A Christmas Story. When Lance notices Keith has entered the room, he’s abruptly quiet.

Hunk peers over the couch. “Oh, hey, Keith. Want me to put those in the dryer for you?” he asks, standing up.

“Yeah, thanks,” Keith mumbles as he passes his wet bundle of clothes to Hunk, meekly peeking at Lance while he pointedly avoids eye contact.

 

**Christmas**

**3:00 AM**

 

“Bye, Lance!” Allura chimes sleepily as she and Shiro stand by the door. Allura wraps him in a big hug and then opens the door, telling Shiro that she’s going to go warm up the car.

Then Shiro turns to Lance and bundles him up in his marshmallow-y jacket arms. “Merry Christmas, Lance,” he says. “Hope it wasn’t too terrible spending it with us.”

Lance grins tiredly. “It was great. Thanks, Shiro.”

Shiro pats his shoulder and braces himself against the cold, following Allura out. They had planned to leave a while ago, but ended up falling into an post snowball fight, alcohol-induced sleep for the first 20 minutes of the movie. 

“Drive safe!” Lance calls after them and Shiro gives a little salute back. They’ve got an early morning ahead of them. Allura’s dad lives a few hours away and they’re planning to get there by noon for Christmas festivities.

Lance stretches lazily and goes to go sit back down on the couch, but Hunk is awake now, gathering up his coat and gloves. “Hey, Lance, I think we’re gonna go too,” he says with a yawn, looking back at Pidge who’s sound asleep on the floor, curled around a pillow. “I told my mom we’d be back around 1 AM,” he continues sheepishly. “Whoops.” He shrugs and then opens his arms for a hug.

Lance smiles and lets Hunk easily lift him off the ground in a ridiculous bear hug. “Have a good Christmas, buddy,” Hunk says as he squeezes tighter.

“Anything for you, pal,” Lance eeks out through half-capacity lungs, slightly relieved when Hunk releases him and his feet are on the ground once more.

Then Hunk gently tosses a lightly snoring Pidge over his shoulder along with their jacket and scarf.

Lance unlatches the door and holds it open as Hunk staggers out. “Say hi to your mom for me.”

Hunk smiles at Lance, standing in the small bank of snow outside the front steps. “Will do. I love you, man!”

“I love you too, buddy. Thanks for everything.” When Lance closes the door, he feels the familiar emptiness he always feels after a party ends late at night. The fun is over, all he has left to do is sleep. Only, Keith is still here, asleep and leaning his head against the coffee table. Lance wonders when he too has to leave. Deciding not to wake him up and ask. He doesn’t feel like being alone just yet. Lance has never been very good at being alone. He was never alone in his childhood home. There was never a moment in his life that he didn’t have a sibling or a parent or grandparent around.

He begins to miss them again. As he retires back to the couch and tucks his chin down into his still-warm blanket, his heart begins to ache. Throughout the course of the evening, he hadn’t had much time to miss them, but now in the absence of sound other than the soft voices coming from the television, he longs to be with them. Lance pulls his phone out of his back pocket and finds that his mom had called him a while back and left a voicemail.

He taps his passcode in and places his phone to his ear to listen. There’s a crackle of static and a pause at the beginning and then his mom begins to speak. “Hi, mijo! I hope you had a very merry Christmas Eve.” He hears a few voices chattering in the background and then the sound of his sister, Eva, angrily shushing them. “We miss you very much here at home and we hope to see you very soon!” She takes a pause and Lance hears her sniffle faintly. “We love you very much, Lance.”

Then, far-off, his oldest brother calls out, “It’s midnight, mom!”

“Oh!” his mom says suddenly and there’s another pause.

Suddenly, Lance hears all his siblings, his parents, and distant relatives who stayed late shouting, “Merry Christmas, Lance!”

And then the voicemail ends.

Lance’s smile trembles as tears begin to dribble down his cheeks. He misses them so much. But he knows he’ll be with them soon.

Then he drops his phone into his lap abruptly as Keith rustles underneath his blanket, inhaling sharply.

Lance quickly wipes the tears away with the backs of his hands just as Keith opens his eyes, glancing around the room until finally finding Lance. “Did everyone else leave?” he rasps out.

“Yeah.” Lance nods. “A few minutes ago… Don’t you have somewhere you need to be too?”

Keith inhales sharply and sighs. “Yeah. I guess,” he says shortly and begins to stand, searching around for his jacket.

Lance stands too. He gets the distinct feeling that he said the wrong thing and he really doesn’t want Keith to go. “I mean, you don’t _have_ to go,” he babbles.

“No, you’re right. I should go.” Keith shoves his arms into his plain black down jacket and zips it up to his throat.

Lance frowns. “I didn’t say you _should_ go.”

“It’s fine, Lance,” Keith insists and tugs his boots on quickly. The more they speak, the faster Keith seems to move.

“Keith,” Lance protests, his voice raising an octave, as Keith throws open the door, cold air rushing in.

“Bye, Lance.” Keith neglects to even tie his shoes and closes the door behind him with finality.

Lance stands there for a moment, wondering what he did to make Keith leave so suddenly. Why was he so _angry_ ? Lance finds his own temper rising, and in a split second decision, throws open the door and follows Keith out in his pajamas and fuzzy Christmas socks. “Keith! Where are you _going_ ?” he yells, growing more and more pissed off. What does he think he’s doing? It’s 3 AM, there’s a solid foot of snow, and Keith has a _motorcycle_.

But Keith doesn’t give him the time of day, just glances back at him, _rolls his eyes_ , and keeps on trucking.

Lance flushes with anger. No one irritates Lance like Keith does. _No one_.

“ _Keith_!” Lance begins to plod through the snow as quickly as he can, feeling like he’s wading through deep, heavy water. He begins to lose feeling in his toes, but frankly doesn’t give a whole lot of shits. He keeps his eyes locked on Keith, who’s striding faster down the darkened street. Lance is frustrated that his feet won’t move faster than they already are and breaks out into a sprint, kicking up snow all around him.

“Just stop, Keith!” Lance shouts as he closes in on him.

Keith finally yields, turning to face Lance, but Lance has no intention of slowing down. He flat-out bulldozes him, tackling him into a solid foot of powder.

A mushroom cloud of snow rises up around them, Lance’s head spinning in the wake of the impact, and then things begin to settle. Lance dizzily pushes himself up onto his hands, and then stops, caught in a moment. Sparkles rain down all around them, kissing Keith’s winter-reddened nose and cheeks. His hair, now wet, sticks steadfastly to his forehead, one errant strand encroaching on his lips. Lance, focused but tentative, smoothes the piece of hair away from Keith’s mouth. Then he unwittingly continues to trace the path across his cheek with his thumb, feeling the firm, cold skin and faint stubble. He looks up and meets Keith’s gaze and his eyes are like dark, wet paint, pupils blissed out, the stars echoed in them. Lance is terrified. His skin is buzzing, his teeth are on the verge of chattering. He’s so cold, but at the same time there’s a warmth bubbling inside him. He tangles his fingers in Keith’s hair at the back of his head, a strange juxtaposition of damp heat and cold. _What am I doing?_

“Wh-what are you doing?” Keith asks, suddenly seeming very vulnerable as he shivers in the snow.

“I--” Lance begins, voice caught in his throat. “Can I?” he asks, repeating what he said hours ago in passenger pickup.

Keith stares at him, wide-eyed, and nods.

Then Lance’s mind goes blank. He wasn’t sure he was expecting, but now he’s entirely forgotten how to kiss. His brain is fuzzy as the tips of their noses bump shyly together. He can feel Keith’s shakey exhales on his lips, the proximity of his body. He’s barely conscious of his fingertips, frozen in the snow as, finally, their lips meet.

Keith’s mouth is chapped and he smells something like cracked pepper and he tastes just like chocolate oranges they'd had for Christmas Eve dessert. Lance shivers as he feels Keith’s gloved hand, cold against his neck, and then suddenly snow is swirling all around them.

 

**Christmas**

**3:22 AM**

 

Keith laughs, his stomach still in knots from the kiss, heart pounding. Lance, beneath him now, is gasping for air. Keith’s head is spinning. He’d entertained thoughts of what this exact moment might be like for months, but he never thought it would happen.

“Are you trying to kill me?!” Lance pants dramatically, slapping at Keith’s elbows. “I thought you liked me!” Then Lance adds shyly, “Or something.”

Keith rolls his eyes and climbs to his feet, offering Lance a hand and mumbling, “I do like you.”

Lance gives him this slow-growing, shit-eating grin and grabs his hand, letting Keith pull him out of their two-person snow angel. “What was that?” he asks impishly.

“I’m not saying it again,” Keith says resentfully, beginning to plod through the snow back to Lance’s house.

“I’m sorry, I don’t think I heard you the first time!” Lance calls after him.

“Shut up, Lance!” Keith yells over his shoulder, smiling to himself.

“You have a crush on me, _you want to kiss me_ ,” Lance singsongs joyously just behind him.

“So what? So do you!” Keith retorts, his ears burning.

“Yeah, I guess that’s true,” Lance murmurs into Keith’s ear, slinging an arm over his shoulder. 

They meander slowly back to Lance's front lawn in comfortable silence until Lance speaks up, dropping his arm from Keith's shoulder and instead lazily entwining their fingers.  "Hey, Keith?" 

Keith glances down at their hands and then shyly up at Lance. "Yeah, Lance?" 

"Merry Christmas," he says, dipping his head so their foreheads touch. They stand on the front stoop, warm although the blustering wind is kicking up icy flurries

"Merry Christmas to you too," Keith replies, and smiles into another snowy kiss. 


	2. Little Constellations

Keith stirs lightly, his eyes feel heavy from the late night before, and his muscles ache, but in an accomplished way. He coaxes his eyelids to lift, blinking tiredly, his eyes reluctant to focus. As he slowly begins to awaken, a sleepy little smile plays on his lips. Late morning light cuts through the slits in the blinds, dappling both the comforter and Lance’s bespeckled shoulder blades with sunshine. Keith’s heart physically aches. _He’s beautiful_.

  
Keith burrows further down into the cozy sheets and then timidly inches a little closer to Lance’s sleeping form. He pokes his hand out from under the covers hesitantly and begins to make little constellations out of Lance’s freckles.

  
He stops abruptly when Lance moans softly and starts to shift around, stretching just enough so that he nests perfectly into the hinge in Keith’s hips, folding his calves flush with Keith’s shins. Keith panics silently, unsure of what to do with his hands and entirely too conscious of what’s growing beneath his waistband.

  
He internally curses himself for being so ridiculous. _This is fine. They just slept in each other's arms, so why should this be so damn scary?_

  
Keith steels himself and then slowly drops his arm, draping it over Lance’s waist. His heart, still unused to being so near to Lance, drums violently. Feeling a little braver, Keith ventures to nuzzle the soft, exposed skin at the juncture between his shoulder and neck with his nose, enjoying his clean, starched linen smell. Lance stirs minutely, caught in the twilight between awake and asleep, extending his neck to give Keith further access.

  
Keith smiles and begins to plant careful, chaste kisses. Gleaning no apparent reaction, Keith smirks, gently cradles the base of Lance’s skull, and slowly drags his tongue up the length of the thick, protruding muscle on the side of his neck.

  
At that, Lance’s breath hitches and he turns his head to fix his gaze on Keith, eyes bright and wanting. He reaches around and tenderly tilts Keith’s lips to meet his own. Sweetly, just barely touching, just enough to feel the softness and the humidity. Then he gives a contented sigh and wriggles himself around so that he’s facing Keith.

  
Keith finds himself a little disappointed, wanting more, but he contents himself to just watch Lance who’s smiling back at him so fondly, he can hardly believe it’s real.

  
“Morning,” Lance mumbles, reaching down to squeeze Keith’s hand under the covers.

  
“Morning,” Keith replies, involuntarily smiling widely.

  
Lance clears his throat, gaining volume. “Are you hungry?” he asks.

  
Keith shrugs, happy to just stay here between the sheets for the rest of eternity.

  
“I could make waffles,” he goes on, now softly and distractingly tracing little figure eights up around Keith’s sternum and then dipping below his belly button.

  
“Hmm,” Keith grunts, letting his eyes fall shut.

  
“Maybe make some coffee,” Lance continues casually, now rubbing circles into Keith’s hip bone with his thumb.

  
“Mm hm,” Keith hums, pretending to listen, until Lance stops suddenly. Keith opens his eyes, sullenly frowning. He’s greeting by a huge, puckish grin. _He totally did that on purpose_ , Keith thinks, offended, but not quite offended enough to say anything about it.

  
“C’mon, lover boy, let’s go get some grub,” Lance encourages, beginning to rise out of bed.

  
Keith makes a noise of protest in the back of his throat and pins Lance back down. “Can’t we just stay here?” he grumbles into Lance’s tummy.

  
“Nope,” Lance replies cheerfully, dislodges himself from Keith’s grip, and extricates himself from the sheets. When Lance fully stands, he gives a big, forcible shiver. “ _Hoo_ it’s cold!” And before Keith can defend himself, Lance reaches down and swipes the comforter from off the bed.

  
“Hey!” Keith protests, sitting up and curling his knees into his chest. It _is_ cold.

  
Lance stands at the base of the mattress, the blanket thrown around him like a cloak. He gazes at Keith mysteriously for a moment and then flings one arm out with the blanket in tow like a bat wing. “Wanna buy a watch?” he offers in a crusty voice.

  
Keith, still upset about Lance stealing the comforter, frowns at him and gets up out of bed so he can forage for a sweatshirt or something. He moves to pick up something promising from off the ground, but Lance sweeps him up in the wings of the blanket so they form a two-person cocoon before he can even touch the floor.

  
Keith sends stern glances over his shoulder as Lance urges the two of them clumsily forward. They haltingly crash down the hallway together and, despite Keith’s honest objections, they tackle the small flight of stairs as well.

  
They miraculously end up unharmed and in the kitchen. Lance pokes one bare arm out the front of their portable blanket tent, elbow crooked around Keith’s ribs, in order to make the coffee. Keith feigns anger, but leans ever-so-slightly back into Lance’s chest, resting his head lightly against his chin. He feels Lance smiling as he closes the lid on the top of the coffee maker and presses the brew button. Then, to Keith’s surprise and dismay, Lance begins lightly bumping against Keith, making him shuffle away from the counter. “Lance, where are we going?’ Keith asks uncertainly.

  
Lance refuses to answer; he just continues to blurt “oops” every time he knocks into Keith.

  
“Lance?” Keith repeats as Lance stares, disappointed, up at the ceiling above the sink.

  
“Aw, it’s gone,” he pouts, slumping noticeably.

  
A cunning little smile forms on Keith’s face as he retrieves a wilted plant from his pants pocket and turns himself around underneath the blanket. “Oh, hey, look,” he says and then wriggles his arm out from between them. “Mistletoe.” He dangles the sprig above them proudly.

  
Lance opens his mouth as if to say something, a bewildered and pleased look on his face, but Keith cuts him off preemptively.

  
He catches Lance’s lips in his own, and they kiss in the lethargic light of the kitchen window, long after the coffee pot begins to incessantly beep, in a little townhouse on a chilly Christmas morning.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I decided to add on a quick bonus chapter bc I really enjoyed this fic and had a few ideas for the morning after (hue hue hue), so here it is! I hope y'all enjoyed!

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading and happy holidays! I spent a literal eternity on this and I hope ya'll enjoy it! Comments are always welcome!
> 
> Also, a couple of notes:
> 
> -The gang decided to wait until after Christmas for a gift exchange, so that's why that didn't happen in the fic, but here's what Lance and Keith got each other:  
> -Lance->Keith: X-Files box set from a pawn shop  
> -Keith->Lance: Ridiculous holiday socks that say "Happy Holla Day$" and have faux fur around the top  
> -Here's the gif Keith sent to Lance: https://media.tenor.co/images/46d9726de384c35d5a1270a3d9e86877/raw  
> -Also, they all go to Penn State in this fic. Mostly because the mascot kinda looks like the voltron lions?? Crazy. Also it's the right distance away from Harrisburg International Airport for this fic to work. 
> 
> Thanks, as always, Hannah for your support and edits!
> 
> Also, thank you Timber for the art!! You are the best!! (Note: a link to the cute lil Keith drawing is in the story)


End file.
